


nothing gold can stay

by Wolfsbane



Category: Mad Men
Genre: 1980s, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, F/M, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-30
Updated: 2019-02-02
Packaged: 2019-08-09 20:26:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16456643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wolfsbane/pseuds/Wolfsbane
Summary: As the 1980s draw to a close, fifty year old Peggy Olson struggles to cope with parenthood, running a business, and the death of her mentor.





	1. Chapter 1

Peggy took one last drag, letting the smoke fill her lungs before tossing the cigarette carefully into the toilet. She hit the flush button and watched the soggy white stick whirl around the bowl before it disappeared to disintegrate in the depths of the New York sewers. She picked up her purse, unlocked the cubicle door, and strode out.

A countertop containing three pristine white sinks lined the opposite wall. She rested her purse on the counter next one of the sinks and started rifling through it. She pulled a bottle of Chanel No. 5 and applied a few drops to her chest and neck, hoping that it would be enough to hide the tell-tale scent. If Stan knew she had been smoking again he’d kill her. They had given up tobacco together after Sara was born.

Peggy deposited the perfume back into her purse, along with her pack of Virginia Slims and the old lighter Stan had given to her for her thirty-second birthday because he was tired of her borrowing his. She turned to leave but stopped short when she caught a glance of herself in the mirror.

“Jesus,” she muttered to herself under her breath. When had she gotten so old?

She was fifty now, an age that had seemed ancient to her when she was in her twenties. Now it seemed like she was constantly reminded of the passage of time wherever she went. Most of the secretaries at work weren’t even born when Kennedy died.

Pulling herself away from the mirror, she smoothed down her black Versace dress before leaving the bathroom and making her way to the entrance hall of the funeral home. She shot a small smile to Sally Draper, who was standing against a wall smoking a cigarette as she watched niece and nephew, Elizabeth and Jason Draper, who were noisily playing on the floor with the ancient toys the funeral home kept around to amuse small children. Peggy was privately thankful that her own children, as much as she loved them, had outgrown the toddler stage.

She weaved her way through the crowd of mourners, giving cursory nods to people as she passed. How could there be so many people here? Were all of these people really friends of Don? Where on earth had her husband gotten to?

Just when she was about to give up and check outside, she heard a familiar voice call her name. Peggy glanced around Pete and Trudy Campbell waving her over. Trudy still looked as gorgeous as ever. Her hair was done up in an elegant bun and she was wearing a form fitting black dress that showed off her slim frame. Pete had evidently chosen to stop wearing the toupee that had occupied the space on top of his head for the past fifteen years. To be honest, Peggy thought he looked much better without it.

“How have you been?” Peggy asked, as Pete hugged her in greeting. “You look tanned.”

“We spent two weeks in the Bahamas,” Trudy told her. “It was heavenly.”

“No,” Peggy answered. “We’re not really a Bahamas family. Stan could probably handle it, but the kids and I would burn to a crisp. We went to Europe last month, though. That was nice. Stressful, but nice.”

“We took Tammy to France and Italy for her fifteenth birthday,” Pete said.

“How is Tammy?” Peggy asked. The last time she had seen Pete and Trudy’s daughter, she was still in middle school and had an intense obsession with horses.

“She got married in June.” Pete dug around in his wallet and produced a photograph of him standing proudly next to his daughter, who looked the spitting image of Trudy at the same age. She was wearing one of those big wedding gowns that were all the rage nowadays, the ones  that looked they had been plucked straight from the closet of a Civil War-era debutante.

“She’s beautiful,” Peggy said, handing the photograph back to Pete. “She looks just like you, Trudy.”

“How about your kids?” Trudy asked. “How old are they now?”

“Sara just turned twelve in July,” Peggy said. “And Vicky is five.”

“A five year old?” Pete said. “She must be a handful.”

“I love Tammy, but it’s a relief to have her out of the house,” Trudy said. “I can’t even imagine having a five year old at our age.”

“Vicky can be a handful,” Peggy said. Her youngest daughter could be a little intense to say the least. “But she’s a sweetheart most of the time.”

“Well, we just wanted to tell you that we loved your eulogy,” Trudy told her.

“Hard to believe Don’s gone,” said Pete. “It’s hard to believe he could die. Part of me thought he was immortal.”

“I did too,” Peggy admitted.

She said her goodbyes to Pete and Trudy and went back to attempting to navigate her way through the mass of people. She had just narrowly avoided eye contact with Ted Chaough when she heard her name being called again. She looked back and saw an elegant older woman striding towards her. Joan Holloway-Harris still looked incredible. Despite nearing sixty, she could still easily pass for a woman in her early forties. She was clutching the arm of a handsome young man with sandy blond hair.

“Joan, it’s so good to see you.” Peggy hugged her, and then turned to the young man she was with. “Kevin, it’s good to see you again, too.”

“That was a beautiful eulogy, Peggy,” Joan said. "I have to admit, I did tear up a bit. Anyway, we just came to say goodbye. We have to get going. Kevin’s got a lot of studying to do. He’s at NYU’s School of Medicine, you know."

Peggy smiled. Joan, so proud of her son, had mentioned this to Peggy every time they had met in the past few years.

"Your kids are at Beringer, right?" Joan said, glancing back at Peggy. "Victoria must be starting school this year.”

“She is,” Peggy said. “Her first day was last week actually.”

Peggy had taken the morning off to take Vicky to her first day of kindergarten. Stan had even persuaded her to leave her cell phone at home. It was an idyllic scene. A warm end of summer’s day. Vicky skipping along as she held tightly onto each of their hands as they walked. Sara following along behind them listening to her Discman. She and Stan had stopped for coffee on their way back. By the time they got home, there were six messages on her answering machine. Don had been found in his office at work, slumped over his desk, dead of an apparent heart attack.

“So how’s work?” Joan asked

“Good,” Peggy answered automatically before she caught herself. “I mean, I haven’t been at work lately, but it was going well before all this happened. What about you?”

“The usual. Educational films, public service announcements, political campaign ads, industrial films,” Joan said. She paused, her face turning serious, and put a hand Peggy’s shoulder. “How are you holding up?”

“I’m fine,” Peggy insisted. “I’ve been getting a lot of reading done, actually. Spending time with Stan and the kids. It’s been nice.”

“Are you sure?” Joan frowned.

“I’m fine,” Peggy assured her. “I’m going to be fine.”

Finally, she saw him. Stan was sitting with Megan in a corner, showing her a picture from his wallet. They looked up as she approached them. Megan looked exactly like she had twenty years ago, with just a few extra lines and wrinkles.

"Stan was just showing me a picture of your trip to Europe,” Megan told her, kissing Peggy’s cheek as she greeted her. “Sara looks just like you, doesn't she?"

“People say that.”

Peggy looked down. It was the photo Stan had taken of the girls pretending to hold up the Leaning Tower of Pisa.

“Did they enjoy the trip?” Megan asked.

“I think Sara did,” Peggy said. “She loved all those art galleries. But Vicky was too young. We got to the first floor of the Eiffel Tower and she started screaming bloody murder as soon as soon she looked over the edge. Stan had to take her down to ground while Sara and I went to the top.”

“She’s scared of heights,” Stan told Megan. “That was probably a bad idea. It’s our fault.”

“Perhaps taking a five year old on a tour of Europe was a bad idea,” Peggy agreed, laughing a little.

“We probably should have gone to Disney World instead,” Stan said.

“Well, I should get going,” Megan said, glancing at her watch. “My flight leaves in three hours.”

“We won't keep you then,” Stan said.

Megan hugged them both, and went to find the Draper kids so that she could say goodbye to them. Ken approached them soon after.

“Peggy, Cynthia and I have to pick Andrew up from basketball practice,” he told her. “You back at work on Friday?"

“I am,” said Peggy. She looked at her husband. “If Stan will let me, that is. He's the one who wanted me to take time off.”

“She’ll be there,” Stan told Ken. He turned to Peggy. “We should probably get going too.”

As Stan and Peggy started walking towards the door, she caught a glimpse of Don’s coffin, still sitting in the large room they’d held the funeral in. It was draped in an American flag, as was customary for veterans. It occurred to her just how little she knew about Don’s life, before he worked in advertising, before he met her.

* * *

 

 _November 9_ _ th _ _, 1970_

_“You asshole.”_

_Peggy slammed Don’s office door shut behind her. He looked up at her from his desk, bewildered, a mug of coffee halfway to his lips. This was clearly not the greeting he had been expecting._

_“You’ve been gone for two months,” Peggy said. She leaned over his desk and pushed her face up against his. “Two months, Don. Do you have any idea what we’ve been through? What I’ve been through? I was so worried.”_

_“Peggy-”_

_“I thought you were about to hurl yourself off a cliff when you called me last week.”_

_“Can you please-”_

_“Joan’s gone. Pete’s gone. Meredith’s gone too in case you were wondering. They fired her because you ran off.”_

_Peggy had never particularly cared for Meredith. If it were up to her, Meredith would have been fired years ago. However, that didn’t change the fact that she had lost her job entirely because of Don’s unreliability._

_“I’ve already heard about all that,” Don assured her. “I want to talk to you. Have a seat.”_

_Peggy relented and sat down opposite Don. He pulled a pack of cigarettes out and offered her one. She took it, and he pulled a lighter out of his pocket and lit it for her._

_“Peggy, I’ve got an idea.”_

* * *

That night, Peggy shut herself in her office on the second floor of their townhouse. There was no work to do, as she had been cut off from news from the agency for the past week. She just wanted to be alone.

It was only just beginning to dawn on her that Don was really gone. For the past week, she hadn’t really let herself think about it. She had been asked by Don’s children to write and deliver his eulogy at his funeral, and she had complied. She had spent the week distracting herself with memories of Don when he was alive. It wasn’t until today that it finally sunk in. They had asked if she wanted to view the body before the funeral. She had agreed. It wasn’t until she was looking down at Don’s unnaturally frozen handsome features that it finally hit her. Don really was gone.

As she poured herself another glass of whiskey, her eyes fell on a picture on her bookshelf. It was of her and Don, taken at her wedding reception eighteen years previously. He had walked her down the aisle. He had been the only choice in her mind for the role that her father never lived to fill.

Her train of thought was interrupted when she heard the door open behind her. She turned around and saw Stan standing in the doorway.

“Vicky wants you to say good night,” he told her. He glanced at the photograph in Peggy's hands and frowned.

“I’ll be up in a minute,” Peggy said.

Stan turned to leave, but stopped as his hand hit the doorknob. He looked back at her.

“Everything’s going to be alright, Chief,” he said, reassuringly. “It’s not like this is the first time he’s disappeared.”

“But this time he’s not coming back,” Peggy said. She put the photograph back on her desk and took a sip of her whiskey.

“I’m just saying, you can handle this,” Stan said. “You’ve done it before.”

“I guess so,” Peggy looked down and considered her whiskey. “It was… just so strange seeing him like that, you know? Lying there in that coffin. He looked like he was sleeping.”

“Everything’s going to be alright,” Stan said again. It was something he’d said repeatedly over the last week. Peggy would have gotten sick of it if it were coming from anyone else but him.

“I know,” she whispered. “I know.”

* * *

 

_October 23rd, 1971_

_To say Peggy was nervous was understatement. Her stomach was twisting itself into knots and she had become uncomfortably aware of her own heartbeat. Something bad was going to happen, she just knew it._

_They were standing in the vestibule of St. Agnes’s, just a few minutes before the ceremony was due to begin. Joyce, her maid of honor, was busy chatting up her fellow bridesmaids: Stan's twenty-one year old twin cousins, who were completely identical, right down to the dimples on their backs(as Joyce had later confided to Peggy, though she hadn't revealed exactly how she had learned this piece of information). The page boy and flower girl, the offspring of Peggy's cousin Erik, were in the corner being reprimanded by their mother because the page boy had intentionally spilled his sister's basket of pink rose petals onto the floor and she had responded by biting him on his bare leg._

_Peggy was running down the list everything that could go wrong during the ceremony in her mind. She could trip over her own dress. Her mother could try to confront Don in the middle of the ceremony. Stan could have a sudden change of heart and leave her stranded at the altar._

_She felt someone put a comforting hand on her back. She looked up to see Don smiling warmly at her._

_“Everything’s going to be fine,” he assured her._

_“Thank you for this,” Peggy said. “I didn’t know who else to ask. My mother and sister aren’t happy, of course. They were still trying to convince me to have my brother-in-law Gerry do it this morning. I’m paying my nephews ten dollars each to keep Ma away from you. Hopefully Little Gerry can tear his eyes away from Sally for long enough.”_

_Don had arrived half an hour early to fulfil his duties as the surrogate father-of-the-bride with his daughter Sally, seventeen years old and on a weekend break from her final year at boarding school, in tow. Peggy’s nephews were the ushers. Gerry Jr was the oldest of the three at sixteen, though Peggy had never quite lost the habit of calling him Little Gerry despite him being a foot taller than she was. He had been tasked with keeping Sally company during the wait. You could practically see his heart beating out of his chest like an old Bugs Bunny cartoon as soon as he laid eyes on her._

_“I was honored you asked me,” Don told her, smiling warming at her. “You know, Sally told me today that she never wants to get married herself. This may be the only chance I get.”_

_“Little Gerry will be heartbroken when he finds out,” Peggy said, and she finally managed to smile and relax, though her chest was still packed with butterflies._

_Organ music started filtering out from beyond the huge wooden doors that led to the nave of the church. The rest of the bridal party took their place in front of Peggy and Don. Stan’s cousins were blushing and giggling and shooting glances back at Joyce, who had a deeply self-satisfied look on her face. One by one, the bridal party filtered out into the nave of the church until, finally, Don and Peggy were alone._

_“I should probably give you some advice about marriage, but given my track record I’m not sure you’d want it,” Don said. He thought for a moment. “Do the exact opposite of me and you’ll be fine.”_

_“I’ll try to keep that in mind,” Peggy said, and she grinned._

_“Stan’s a very lucky man.”_

_Peggy looked down at the little sapphire ring on her left hand and felt a warm sensation in her chest._

_“I’m an even luckier woman,” she said._

_There was a brief pause in the music and a few seconds later, they heard the familiar opening notes of the Bridal March._

_“That’s our cue,” Don said as he linked his arm around hers._

_He led her through the large wooden doors and into the nave. Roger and Marie were sitting in the back with Megan, who was clearly trying her hardest to avoid looking at Don. Ted was with his new wife and looked as if he didn’t know if he belonged there. She saw Pete and Trudy. Ginsberg and his dad. Joan, Ken, Harry. And then she saw Stan standing at the altar, watching her walk towards him, looking so happy you would have thought he had just won the lottery._

* * *

It felt strange walking back into the office again. It wasn’t just because she had taken a two week break at Stan’s insistence. She’d taken most of 1984 off, after all. It wasn’t just because Don was gone either. Despite being an advertising genius, Don was the most unreliable business partner anyone could possibly have. He would regularly disappear without notice, often for weeks at a time. Everyone was used to Don’s absences by now.

“Good morning, Ms. Olson. Welcome back!” Shannon chirped as she handed Peggy her usual mug of coffee.

Shannon was a sweet little twenty year old blonde thing who had just started working there in July that year. Peggy had been disturbed to find out that she had been born on the day of the moon landing. But she was good at her job, much better than Peggy had been when she had first started working as a secretary.

“Good morning, Shannon,” Peggy said, and she downed half the mug in one gulp.

“How are you feeling?” Shannon asked.

“Fine,” Peggy insisted, and she forced a smile. “I’m fine.”

“Mr. Cosgrove wants to see you,” Shannon told her, following Peggy into her office.

“Send him in.”

Peggy set herself down at her desk. Her eyes scanned the photos on her desk. Her and her father taken on her twelfth birthday, just a month before his fatal heart attack. Her and Stan’s wedding portrait. Stan gazing adoringly at newborn Sara as she slept in his arms. Six year old Sara holding baby Vicky in her lap. Her and Don at the 1972 Clio awards, the year she won for the first time.

Her office door swung open and Ken strode in, a mug of coffee in his hand.

“You still going to Tokyo next week?” he asked, sitting down opposite her.

“Of course,” Peggy said, glancing through the papers on her desk. “Don died. That doesn’t mean the world has to stop turning. So, how have things been here?”

“Well.” Ken shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “We’re still dealing with the fallout of Don’s death.”

“Why?” Peggy frowned. “What’s going on?”

Ken hesitated, running his finger around the rim of his mug thoughtfully.

“Some of our clients are uncomfortable with an agency run by a girl,” he admitted.

“A girl? I’m fifty,” said Peggy in disbelief. “Which clients?”

”Dr. Pepper slash Seven Up for one.”

“Jesus.” Peggy pulled her top drawer open and pulled out a pack of gum. She was dying for a cigarette, but the gum would have to do for now. “Why do these companies think only men drink soda?”

“We have a meeting with the Dr Pepper and Seven Up people on Monday. We need to come up with something before then.”

“For Dr Pepper or Seven Up?”                                                                   

“Dr Pepper.”

“Ugh.” Peggy leaned back into her chair. “I hate Dr Pepper.”.

“I don’t mind it. Cynthia buys it for the boys,” said Ken.

“It tastes like medicine,” Peggy said, wrinkling up her nose in disgust.

“I guess that’s the point,” said Ken.

“I guess I’ll call Stan and tell him I’ll be home late tonight,” said Peggy.

* * *

 

_November 23rd, 1976_

_“Oh good, you’re here,” Peggy said, walking into Don’s office without knocking. She tossed her purse onto the couch. “ I wanted to catch you before you left for DC. I have something to tell you.”_

_“We’re not going until tomorrow morning,” Don said, standing up from his desk._

_“Are you excited?”_

_“About seeing my two oldest children for the first time in months? What makes you think that?”_

_Peggy frowned._

_“You haven’t seen them in months?”_

_“Sally’s in law school and Bo-I mean Robert’s in college. They’re busy,” Don said with a shrug. “What did you want to tell me?”_

_“Well,” Peggy took a long, deep breath. “I’m pregnant.”_

_“Oh.” Don looked as if he wasn’t entirely sure how to react to this information._

_“It’s okay,” Peggy said, and she smiled and put a hand to her abdomen. “We planned this, actually. This was completely intentional.”_

_“In that case, congratulations.”_

_“Thank you,” Peggy said. “It’s still early, but we’re excited.”_

_“I didn’t think you and Stan wanted kids,” Don said. “That’s what I get for making assumptions.”_

_“Kid,” Peggy corrected him. “Singular. We’re only having one. One and done, as they say.”_

_“We should celebrate,” Don said, gesturing towards his bar. He looked down at her abdomen. “Or is that not allowed anymore?”_

_“It’s okay,” Peggy said. “The books say I can have one drink a day.”_

_Don handed Peggy a glass of whiskey before pouring one for himself. She sat down on the chair in front of his desk._

_“We always said we were going to have a baby eventually, but we just kept putting it off. We were going to start trying a few years ago, but then Stan lost his job and we started this.” Peggy put her arms up, gesturing around the entire office. “And then I turned thirty-seven, and Stan turned forty-one, and we just realized that we don’t have much time left. If we don’t have one soon then we’re never going to have one.”_

_“How are you feeling?”_

_“Okay. My feet are killing me. I feel sick all the time. I haven’t been able to keep a meal down in weeks. I don’t remember that happening last ti-”_

_Peggy stopped herself_

_“I’ve been thinking about him a lot lately. Since this happened.” She touched her stomach again. “It’s his birthday today, you know? November twenty-third. He’s sixteen. Can you believe it? Sixteen. Old enough to drive.”_

_Peggy bit her lip to stop herself from crying. Pregnancy hormones or not, she thought she was over this. Sixteen fucking years and she still couldn’t talk about it without having an emotional breakdown._

_“Anyway, I should go,” Peggy said, standing up quickly. “We’re flying down to Texas to see Stan’s family for Thanksgiving tomorrow and I still haven’t packed.”_

_She swallowed the rest of her whiskey in one gulp. The alcohol burned her throat as it went down._

_“I guess I’ll see you on Monday then,” Don said._

_“I will. Say hello to your kids from me.”_

_Peggy grabbed her purse and hurried down the hallway. She waited until she was safely enclosed in the elevator to burst into tears._

* * *

It was almost ten when Peggy finally got home to their townhouse on East 17th Street. Laughably early, considering how many nights she’d worked well past midnight throughout her twenties and thirties. She found Stan watching television in the living room, a beer resting on the coffee table in front of him. Vicky sat crosslegged on the floor in front him, absentmindedly running a tiny pink brush through the hair of a ballgown-clad Barbie as her eyes remained transfixed on the television screen. She looked up when Peggy walked into the room.

“Mommy!” she cried, leaping up and wrapping her arms around Peggy’s stomach.

“What are you doing up?” Peggy crouched down to return the hug. “You should be in bed.”

“Daddy said I could stay up to wait for you. It’s your turn to read to me.”

“Go upstairs and get ready, Vicks,” Stan said. He stood up and touched the top of her head with his palm. “Mommy will be up soon.”

Vicky turned and reluctantly trudged up the stairs, her Barbie gripped tightly in her left hand.

Stan turned back to Peggy.

“Have you eaten yet?” he asked. “I can put some ravioli in the microwave.”

“That’s fine,” Peggy said. “Where’s Sara?”

“She’s in her room.”

Peggy rolled her eyes.

“Why did I even ask?”

Stan’s expression turned serious.

“She failed her math test.”

“Again?” Peggy said. “Jesus Christ. I’ll go up to speak to her.”

“Just don’t be too harsh on her, okay? She’s already upset.”

Peggy made her way up to the top floor of the townhouse, where the girls’ bedrooms were. Sara was hunched over her desk, her brow furrowed in concentration as she carefully sketched something in her drawing pad. Her long dark blonde hair was held back by a navy blue headband. She wore a pair of large headphones, the kind that was supposed to block out sound entirely. Peggy had bought them as a gift for her twelfth birthday. She had come to regret this action.

“Sara," Peggy said.

Sara remained laser-focused on her drawing, the music from her headphones drowning out everything.

“Sara,” Peggy said again, much louder this time.

No response.

Peggy carefully slid the headphones off her daughter’s ears. Sara looked around in surprise.

“Oh. Hi, Mom. How was work?”

“Exhausting. Your father told me you failed your math test.”

“Oh, yeah," Sara said dejectedly, and she dropped her pencil to her desk and turned around to properly face Peggy.

“Why?” Peggy demanded.

“Because I didn’t know the answers,” Sara said, rolling her eyes as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

Peggy frowned. Sara had developed an annoying sarcastic little streak lately. Stan had said this was par for the course for kids her age.

“You don’t try hard enough. You need to study more.”

“I do try, Mom," Sara said, looking down at the ground. "I’m just not good at math. Or science. Or anything really.”

“You’re lazy,” Peggy said decisively. “Do you know how much money I have to pay so you can go to the best school in New York?”

“Then maybe I should go to a regular school,” Sara said, throwing up her arms in frustration. “They all teach the same stuff, Mom!”

“I want you to get into a good college, Sara. I didn’t get to go to college, you know.”

“Exactly! And look at how you turned out.”

“I had to work very hard to get where I was," Peggy said. "I started from the bottom. You don’t know how lucky you are, Sara. You are so privileged and you don't even appreciate it.”

“You just don’t understand, Mom," Sara said. "Not everyone can be as perfect as you. Get lost, Vicky.”

Peggy looked around and saw her youngest daughter clad in a nightgown and holding a copy of Charlotte’s Web in her tiny hands, her giant blue eyes watching the exchange curiously.

“I’ll be there in a minute, honey.”

Vicky nodded and padded back to her room across the hall. Peggy turned back to Sara.

“Don’t talk to your sister that way. Get ready for bed. It's late.”

After kissing Vicky good night and assuring her that there was no monster under her bed, or her closet, or the ceiling vent, Peggy went back to check on Sara. She found her already lying in bed, reading a Babysitter’s Club book.

“Good night, Sara.”

“Good night, Mom,” Sara murmured, not meeting Peggy’s gaze.

"Finish that chapter and go to sleep, okay?"

"Yes, Mom."

“I love you, sweetheart.”

“Love you too, Mom.”

Sara closed her eyes and allowed Peggy to plant a kiss on her forehead.

“I just want you to do well. You know my family didn’t have much money, especially after my father died. I just want you to have more opportunities than I did.”

“I know, Mom,” Sara murmured.

Peggy went down to her office. Stan had left a steaming Tupperware container of ravioli on her desk. She collapsed into her desk chair and pulled it towards her.

* * *

 

_July 15th, 1977_

_“You’re here.”_

_Peggy blinked her eyes furiously as her hospital room slowly came into focus. Don was sitting next to her bed, a bouquet of pink roses resting in his lap._

_“I was wondering if you’d come,” she said, sitting up in her hospital bed. “Have you seen her yet?”_

_“I have,” Don said. “In the nursery. She’s adorable. Looks just like you.”_

_“We’re naming her Sara, after my grandmother,” Peggy told him. “Stan’s in love with her already. The nurse practically had to drag him out of the room to let me get some rest.”_

_“I’m happy for you,” Don told her. “Having kids is tough, but it’s rewarding. It’s like learning to see life through another person’s eyes.”_

_Peggy looked down at her stomach, still somewhat distended despite giving birth a full two days ago. The nurse had told her that it would take a few weeks, perhaps months for it to shrink back to normal size._

_She should have remembered this from last time, but there wasn’t much she remembered from last time. Her brain had successfully blocked most of it from her memory. She had flashes, occasionally, especially in the last few months. A soft-spoken doctor. A bossy nurse. A crying baby. But she mostly just remember how terrified and alone she had felt. And the pain. She would never forget the pain. Her labor had been too advanced for her to be put to sleep last time._

_Peggy had been fully prepared this time. She’d read every single book recommended by her doctor. She and Stan had gone to childbirth classes together. He was with her every step of the way, from the moment she felt her first contraction to the moment the nurse placed the baby in her arms._

_They hadn’t expected the city to be plunged into a blackout nor did they expect to be in the only hospital in the city with a faulty backup generator. Fortunately by the time the blackout started, the epidural had kicked in and Peggy was too full of drugs to care that she had to give birth by flashlight._

_“Are you going to tell her?” Don asked._

_Peggy bit her lip. She knew what he meant._

_“When she’s old enough,” Peggy said. “She deserves to know.”_

_“She’s lucky to have you,” Don said, and he reached out to hold her hand reassuringly. “You’re going to be a great mother.”_

_Peggy smiled._

_“I hope you’re right.”_

* * *

 An hour later, she went back upstairs to check on the kids. Vicky was sleeping soundly, sucking her thumb and clutching her favorite teddy bear to her chest. Her face was lit up by the glow of her Hello Kitty night light. Her long wavy brown hair was spread out over her pillow like a halo. Adorable.

She quickly peeked in on Sara to make sure she was asleep before heading downstairs. She found Stan sitting on the long bench in the small outside terrace area, waiting for her.

“Kids asleep?” He asked as Peggy sat down beside him.

“They are.”

“Excellent.” Stan dug around in his pocket and pulled a joint and an old lighter out. “Did you talk to Sara?”

“I did.”

“She’s a smart girl, Peggy, she just needs some assistance.” Stan lit the joint in his mouth and took a drag. “I try to help her with her homework, but I was no good at math either. Maybe we could get some college kid to tutor her after school or something?”

Stan offered the joint to his wife. Peggy took it gratefully.

“You know what Sara called me?” Peggy said, inhaling the smoke deep into her lungs. “Perfect. No one’s ever said _that_ me before.”

“The only Peggy Olson she knows is the rich lady who wears expensive clothes and gets two hundred dollar haircuts,” Stan pointed out. “She never knew the dowdy Peggy Olson who accidentally stabbed her boyfriend.”

“You’re never gonna let that go, are you?”

Stan ran a hand through his hair and grinned at her. He was almost fifty-four years old and his hair had only just started to turn grey. It actually made him look quite distinguished and handsome. Though she would never admit it, Peggy was deeply jealous of this. She had found her first grey hair just a week after Vicky was born, and had been dyeing her hair ever since.

“Why would I? It’s my favorite story about you.” He took the joint back from her and took another toke. “I just wish I had been there to see it.”

Peggy rolled her eyes and decided to change the topic of conversation.

“Did you see the doctor today?” she asked.

“I did.”

“And?”

“Rightie’s as healthy as a horse. Old Leftie still hasn’t grown back yet but here’s hoping.”

“But you’re okay?” Peggy asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Peggy, if I had cancer I’d tell you,” Stan said, exasperated. “Relax, okay? I’ve been in the clear for almost five years. I’m fine.”

“It’s just… I don’t want to lose you too,” Peggy admitted.

“That’s not going to happen, I promise,” Stan told her. “Not anytime soon, anyway.”

Peggy leaned on his shoulder and brushed her hand against the stubble on his chin. Stan had shaved his beard just after Sara was born because she used to cry whenever he leaned down to kiss her forehead. He had tried to grow it back after chemotherapy, but it never came out exactly right. Stan attributed this to the loss of one of his testicles, though Peggy privately suspected it was because he was getting older.

“I hope you’re right,” she said softly. She snuggled up closer to him. “It’s getting so cold already. It’s only September.”

“You want to go back inside?” Stan asked, rubbing her shoulder.

“Not yet.”

Stan leaned back further so Peggy could press her head against his chest. The sound of Stan’s heartbeat drowned out the noise of the New York traffic, and the arguing couple in the neighboring townhouse, and the screaming baby off in the distance. She felt Stan’s hands brush through her hair and land on her back.

“It’s going to be alright, Chief,” she heard Stan whisper into her ear. “Everything’s going to be alright.”


	2. Chapter 2

_Margaret Olson is the CEO and Creative Director of Olson Draper, one of the top advertising agencies in the country, but to her friends she’s Peggy Rizzo, a wife and mom whose butter cookies(a recipe passed down from her Norwegian grandmother) are always the first thing to sell out at every school bake sale._

_I meet Olson, 50, at the Union Square Café, just a few blocks away from the Gramercy Park townhouse where she lives with her husband Stanley Rizzo, 53, a freelance illustrator whose work has appeared in The New Yorker and The Atlantic Monthly, and their two daughters, Sarah, 12, and Victoria, 5, both students at the prestigious all-girls Beringer School._

_Olson was just twenty years old and fresh out of Miss Deaver’s Secretarial School when she first started working as a secretary at the now-defunct advertising agency Sterling Cooper. Within weeks, Don Draper, the Creative Director of Sterling Cooper, noticed that Olson had a talent for copywriting. By November, Olson was a fully-fledged copywriter._

_“There were no female copywriters at the agency at the time,” Olson explains. “They were having trouble with a lipstick account, Belle Jolie. Specifically they were having issues marketing directly to women.”_

_“Peggy is a natural writer. Completely instinctive,” Draper tells me over the phone. “I have never met anyone who worked as hard as she does.”_

_When Sterling Cooper was absorbed into McCann Erickson in 1963, Olson was one of the few employees brought along to its successor, Sterling Cooper Draper Pryce. It was at SCDP that Olson met her now husband, though it was hardly love at first sight._

_“We despised each other at first,” Olson laughs. “It’s funny how these things work out.”_

_In 1967, Olson jumped ship to join SCDP’s rival agency Cutler, Gleason, and Chaough._

_“I needed a change,” Olson explains. “I had spent my entire adult life working with Don. It was time to move on.”_

_However, Olson’s time away from her old bosses did not last for long. The very next year, CGC and SCDP merged and Olson was once again working with Don Draper._

_“It felt like fate,” Olson tells me. “Of course I wasn’t happy to be back where I started at first.”_

_In 1970, SC &P was, like its predecessor, absorbed into McCann Erickson. Olson spent the next few years at McCann. It was here that she coined the now legendary L’Oreal slogan ‘Because I’m Worth It’. The slogan brought Olson her first Clio Award in 1972.  _

_In 1974, Olson and Draper left McCann and opened Olson Draper. Ironically enough, their new offices were located in the exact same spot that Olson began her career: the former offices of Sterling Cooper. After a bit of a shaky start, Olson Draper rose to prominent new heights. They eventually decided to branch out internationally, and Olson Draper Japan opened in 1984._

_Earlier this month, just a week after my lunch with Olson, Draper had a fatal heart attack while working late in his offi-_

“What do you think,” Ken asked.

Peggy had completely forgotten the article was due to come out that day. She had woken up at four in the morning so that Stan could drive her to the airport to catch her six o’clock flight. It wasn’t until Ken sat down next to her on the plane holding a copy of The New York Times that she finally remembered. They were already halfway across the Pacific when she finally decided to bite the bullet and read it.

“They misspelled Sara’s name,” Peggy said, frowning down at the newspaper in her hands.

“Is that all?” Ken asked.

“It’s amazing how much better your life sounds when you see it written down on paper,” Peggy mused.

“Come one, a profile in The Times? I think that means you’ve made it. So why haven’t I ever had the chance to try these butter cookies? I’ve known you for thirty years!”

Peggy looked over at the accompanying black and white photograph. It had been taken in her office at work on a Sunday about a month ago. She was leaning back in her chair with her legs resting on her desk, wearing a black skirt suit and a stern expression on her face.

“Jesus Christ.”

“I think you look nice,” Ken said, peering over at the photograph.

“It doesn’t even look like me,” Peggy said. “I look like an old lady dressed up as Madonna for Halloween.”

“You are showing an awful lot of leg in that photo."

“The photographer said I had nice legs for someone my age and I should them off for ‘sex appeal’,” Peggy said. “I’m fifty, whatever sex appeal I had is long gone. If my mother were still alive she’d probably have another stroke.

"You shouldn’t be so hard on yourself,” Ken told her. “I thought the article was very flattering” 

Peggy looked across the aisle and over at Mike, who was ordering another martini from the flight attendant.

“That’s your third,” she said, smirking at him. “We still have another seven hours in the air you know.”

“Hey, I’ve never flown First Class before,” he said, shrugging. “I may as well take advantage of it.”

“I wanted to thank you for coming at such short notice,” Peggy said. “We had an extra spot after Don died. And you’re cheaper than hiring a translator to follow us around all day.”

“Are you kidding? I’m so glad you asked me. My mom arranged a date with the granddaughter of one of her friends from church. The poor girl is barely out of high school. I’m thrilled to get out of that one.”

“How long are you going to go on like this?” Peggy asked, shaking her head.

“For as long as possible,” Mike answered. He took the martini from the flight attendant and drained half of it in one gulp.

“I think it would be easier if you just told her.”

“Aunt Peggy, you grew up with my mom,” Mike said. “You know exactly how she would take it. She would probably blame you. She still hasn’t forgiven you for sending me to Japan for three years.”

“You know, if you want me to set you up with someone, just let me know,” Peggy told him. “There’s this young man my friend Joyce works with. He’s about your age and he’s very handsome.”

“Jesus, you too, Aunt Peggy?” Mike groaned, looking annoyed. “Why does _everyone_ think I need help finding dates?”

“I’m just worried,” Peggy said. “You haven’t settled down yet.”

“You didn’t ‘settle down’ until you were my age,” Mike pointed out. “Just relax, okay? I’m a grown man. I can manage my own love life.”

“Just know that I’m there for you if you need me.”

Peggy tucked her copy of the Saturday edition of The New York Times into the seat pocket. She poked around her purse and pulled out a notebook, a pen, and her Walkman. Stan, who had always been better with new technology than her, had put some of her old records on tape for her a few years ago. Initially, Peggy didn’t see the point of this. She still felt records were far superior no matter how convenient tapes were, though she had come to appreciate the joys of being able to bring them with you everywhere you went. However, Sara never went anywhere without her Walkman or her Discman. You couldn’t have a conversation with her without asking her to take off her headphones. 

* * *

_December 15 th, 1973_

_“Sorry, I’m late,” Peggy said, tearing off her coat. She collapsed into her chair, out of breath. “The subway broke down.”_

_Don ordered them both drinks, a whiskey sour for Peggy and an old fashioned for himself. He waited until the drinks arrived to drop the bomb._

_“My contract with McCann is up in July.”_

_“Okay?”_

_“The non-compete clause also expires then.”_

_Peggy raised an eyebrow._

_“You want to leave? Start something on your own?”_

_“Of course.”_

_“And you want me to come with you?”_

_“That’s right.”_

_Peggy looked down at her drink and considered it for a few moments._

_“You know David spoke to me last week? I’m being strongly considered for a creative director position. I would be the first female creative director at McCann. One of the biggest advertising agencies in the world, Don.”_

_“Peggy, is that what you really want?” Don asked, leaning across the table. “To be a McCann lackey for the rest of your life? You can do better.”_

_“It may not be a big deal to you, Don, but it is to me,” Peggy said huffily._

_“Do you really want to stay after what they did to your own husband?”_

_“Stan wanted to get out of advertising anyway,” Peggy said. “He’s happy doing freelance work right now. He’s in talks with the art editor of The New Yorker. They were very impressed with his portfolio.”_

_“Peggy, I can’t imagine working anywhere without you.”_

_“But you did,” Peggy reminded him. “For over a year, while I was at CGC.”_

_“Peggy, you know we went to the pits after you left,” Don said. “I need you.”_

_“Don, I don’t want to spend my whole life being overshadowed by you.”_

_Don considered this for a few seconds._

_“Do you have a pen?” he asked eventually._

_Peggy fished into her purse, produced a blue ballpoint pen, and placed it on Don’s side of the table. Don pulled a business card out of his jacket, took the pen, and hastily scrawled something down on the back of it. He slid the pen and the card over to Peggy. She looked down._

_Olson Draper._

* * *

“Aunt Peggy?”

Bleary eyed, Peggy rolled out of bed and stumbled over to the door of her room and opened it to find Mike standing in the hallway.

“Yes?”

“Aren’t you ready yet?” he asked. “Dinner with Tanaka, remember?”

They had arrived at their hotel in Roppongi around lunch time on Sunday. Peggy had never been able to sleep well on planes, even in first class, so she immediately went to her room to take a shower and a nap while Mike and Ken ventured out for lunch.

“Just let me get dressed,” she said. “I’ll be out in a minute.”

Peggy threw open her suitcase and pulled out the nicest, least crumpled dress she could find. She threw the clothes she had worn on the plane and dressed quickly, attempted to do something with her hair, and was out the door in five minutes flat.

“Ken’s not coming,” Mike told her as they started walking towards the elevator.

“What?” Peggy stopped and turned to him. “Why not?”

“Food poisoning,” Mike said. “From the plane.”

“Ugh, I told him not to have the fish,” Peggy groaned. “You _never_ eat fish on a plane.”

“We had just arrived at the restaurant when he puked all over the floor,” Mike said, wincing at the memory. “I have never said _sumimasen_ so much in my life.”

Hayate Tanaka had been a Vice President at Dentsu before Don had poached him to run the Japanese branch of Olson Draper eight years ago. Don had first suggested branching out internationally in the early 1980s. Japan had the second largest economy in the world after the United States and was a perfect target. Peggy had had a lot of concerns. She was apprehensive about the language barrier, and thought that they should at least try an English-speaking country first. She still thought Olson Draper UK had a nice ring to it.

But Don was still deep in grief, and had thrown himself deep into work as a way to work through the pain. Peggy was relieved that he decided to console himself with overworking rather than with alcohol that she tried not to care that he was taking a serious risk with their company.

Dinner was mostly uneventful. Mike and Mrs Tanaka were having what sounded like a deeply amusing conversation in Japanese, while Peggy was left to chat business with Tanaka.

“I’m very sorry about Mr. Draper,” Tanaka told her. “He was a great man. One of the greatest advertising minds of our time.”

“He was a genius,” Peggy agreed. “He certainly wasn’t perfect, but he was a genius.”

“How long did you work together?” he asked.

“Almost thirty years,” Peggy answered. I met him when I was twenty.”

“At least you got a lot of time with him.”

“About the company,” Peggy said, looking down at her steak. “You should know that Don’s death was a huge a blow to us, but we’re working through it, trying to remain stable. He left his share to his kids. We’re in the process of buying them out. His daughter, Sally, is especially anxious to get rid of her share. She’s a New York state legislator, and she’s planning to run for congress next year.”

* * *

_January 17 th, 1974_

_Ken was already seated at the restaurant when Peggy arrived._

_“It’s so good to see you again.” Peggy hugged him. “How are Cynthia and the kids?”_

_“They’re good,” Ken said. “Eddie’s starting school in September. How’s Stan?”_

_Peggy grinned and pulled out the week’s edition of The New Yorker of her bag. There was a drawing lampooning Nixon and Watergate on the front cover. She pointed to the little signature on the right hand bottom corner of the page that read ‘Stan Rizzo’._

_“That’s his work?” Ken asked, amazed. “I’ll have to pick up a copy. Tell him congratulations from me.”_

_“I’m so proud of him,” Peggy said, unable to hide her grin._

_“I can tell,” Ken said. He looked back at magazine sadly.  “I miss seeing my name in print like this.”_

_“Have you thought about what we talked about on the phone?” Peggy asked._

_“Peggy, Cynthia’s father got me this job. I can’t leave.”_

_“But you hate it there!” Peggy said. “You’re always complaining about it.”_

_“Peggy, I have two kids. I can’t take risks right now. I have a family to support,” Ken said._

_“Don’t you want to start writing again?” Peggy asked. “You told me last time we saw you that you hadn’t written anything in years because you were so stressed about work.”_

_“That was something I did when I was younger. Before I had kids.”_

_“Ken, you’re so talented. If you came with us, you could start publishing under your own name again.”_

_“Would you really be okay with that?” Ken asked._

_"Yes!” Peggy insisted. “I’m not sure about Don, but I would.”_

_Ken paused, looked back at the magazine, and then back at Peggy._

_“I’ll consider it.”_

_Peggy smiled._

_“That’s good enough for me.”_

* * *

“Good morning, you’ve reached the Olson-Rizzo residence. This is Stanley Rizzo speaking.”

“Hello, Stanley Rizzo. This is Margaret Olson. May I speak to my husband please?”

“Very funny,” Stan said, though Peggy could tell he was amused. “I’ve been teaching Vicky to use the phone and I’m trying to set an example. How’s everything over there?”

“Fine so far,” Peggy said. She kicked her heels off and sunk into her soft hotel bed.

“I read the New York Times piece out to the girls at breakfast yesterday,” Stan told her. “Vicky was very excited to get her name in the paper, but I think Sara was a little embarrassed by it. But kids her age are embarrassed by everything their parents do so I wouldn’t put much stock in it. Nice photo, by the way.”

“Trust me, I don’t blame Sara for being embarrassed.”

“It sure put some ideas into my head,” Stan said, and Peggy could practically see the devilish look on his face. “Wish you hadn’t left the day it came out.”

“How’s everything there?”

“Same as usual. We went to Coney Island yesterday. That went okay, except the girls got sunburn despite it being September and despite being covered in sunscreen. That’s your Irish-Scandinavian heritage at work I guess.”

“The Olsons have never had a good relationship with the sun,” Peggy agreed. She reached over to the nightstand to grab her purse. “Are the kids there now?”

“Sara’s at her friend’s house, but Vicky’s here,” Stan said.

“Put her on.”

“Vicky, there’s a phone call for you.”

Peggy lit her cigarette and took a drag.

“Good morning, this is Victoria Rizzo speaking.”

“Good girl, Vicks,” Peggy heard Stan’s muffled voice say in the background.

“Vicky, it’s Mommy,” Peggy said, and she took another puff of her cigarette.

“Hi, Mommy!” Vicky chirped. “Are you in Japan? Is it night time there? Why aren’t you asleep?”

“I’m lying in bed now actually.”

“Are you in one of those tubes, Mommy?”

“Excuse me?”

“My teacher told me that in Japan there are hotels where you can sleep in a tube,” Vicky explained.

“I’m afraid I’m just in a regular hotel room,” Peggy said.

“Oh.” Vicky sounded disappointed.

“I have a pretty good view of the Tokyo Tower though,” Peggy said, looking at out at the view of the Tokyo skyline from her window.

“What’s that?” Vicky asked,

“It looks exactly like the Eiffel Tower, except it’s red.”

“Oh.” Vicky sounded distant, perhaps having flashbacks to her own traumatic experience with the Eiffel Tower. Peggy decided it was best to change the subject.

“Did you have fun at Coney Island yesterday?” she asked. “Daddy told me you went.”

Silence.

“Vicky, Mommy can’t hear you nodding,” Peggy heard Stan say.

“Yes, Mommy.”

Peggy yawned. She locked down at her watch. It was past midnight.

“I have to go to sleep now, honey. It’s late.”

“Bye bye, Mommy. I love you.”

“I love you, too. Vicky. Be a good girl for Daddy.”

After saying good night to Stan, hanging up and stubbed out her cigarette, Peggy stretched out on the bed and breathed in the smell of freshly laundered sheets. That was one of the things she missed the most when she went on a business trip. Her bed at home smelled like Stan, a mixture of cologne, ink, and pencil shavings. It never failed to comfort her, and it was hard to fall asleep without it.

* * *

  _June 29th, 1974_

_“Don’t be late, okay?” Peggy said, handing Mikey a five dollar bill from her purse. “Your mother would kill me if something happened to you.”_

_“I’m just going to the movies, Aunt Peggy,” Mikey said, rolling his eyes. “I’m not joining the mafia. You’re almost as bad as Mom.  I’ll be fine.”_

_He passed Don on the stoop as he walked out._

_“Call if you’re going to be late,” Peggy called after him._

_“Who was that?” Don asked, following Peggy into the building_

_“That’s my nephew, Mikey,” Peggy answered. “He’s seventeen and he’s doing a summer art program for high school students at Columbia so he’s staying with us for a few weeks.”_

_“They didn’t have any dorm rooms available?”_

_“The only reason my sister let him do it was because I offered to let him stay with us.”_

_“Didn't he follow Sally around at your wedding?”_

_“No, that was his brother,” Peggy answered. “Mike was doing his job, keeping Ma and Anita away from you.”_

_Don followed her upstairs. They were setting up a small office on the newly renovated upper floors of her brownstone apartment building, which was to be their temporary headquarters until they could rent out proper office space. They were planning to resign at the end of July, when Don’s contract ran out. Ken was planning to resign on the same day._

_“Ken’s been talking to some of his old clients. Trying to persuade them,” Peggy told him. “He’s pretty optimistic. You’re a big draw after Coke."_

_Peggy sat down at a desk and took a deep breath. There had a nagging little feeling bothering her lately and she wasn't completely sure how to put it into words._

_"Do you think we’re doing the right thing?" Peggy asked. "What if this doesn’t work out? They say more than half of new businesses fail in the first year.”_

_“We’re not going to fail,” Don promised her._

_“How do you know that, Don?”_

_“Because I have you.”_

* * *

The next morning, Peggy, Mike, and a mostly recovered Ken went into the offices of Olson Draper Japan. Mike, who had worked there for three years, was immediately swarmed by his old coworkers.  Peggy and Ken were on their way to meet with Tanaka and the vice presidents when they ran into a familiar face.

“Peggy, good to see you again,” the tall, bespectacled man greeted her. “How’s Stan?”

“He’s good,” Peggy answered. “Still freelance. He prefers it.”

“And how’s,” Ed screwed up his face as if he was trying to remember something. “Samantha?”

“Sara,” Peggy corrected him. “And Victoria.”

“You guys had another kid?” Ed asked.

“Five years ago, yes,” Peggy said.

“Aunt Peggy, I gotta go,” Mike said, interrupting the reunion. “I’m meeting some friends in Shibuya for lunch.”

“Oh, wait.” Peggy started searching through her purse. “We’re coming home on Stan’s birthday. Do you think you can go out and find a present for him? And some stuff for the girls too?”

“Is that the real reason you brought me?” Mike asked, raising an eyebrow. “So I could do all your shopping for you?”

“Hey, you can speak Japanese and you lived here for five years. You can get me the good deals,” Peggy said, pushing a handful of banknotes into Mike’s hand.

“I’m not your secretary,” he retorted.

“But you are my nephew,” Peggy reminded him with a smile.

“Aunt Peggy-”

“Vicky likes Hello Kitty,” Peggy said. “And maybe get some art supplies for Sara?”

Mike looked annoyed, but evidently realized he had no chance of winning this argument. He shuffled out the room looking defeated. Peggy looked over at Ken, who had turned a light shade of green.

“You feeling okay?”

“Not bad,” he murmured. “Just a little queasy.”

“Are you sure?” Peggy asked.

“No,” he admitted. “I’ll be right back.”

He pushed past her and practically ran to the bathroom.

* * *

_September 5, 1974_

_The old Sterling Cooper office had felt enormous to Peggy when she was in her early twenties. It had been her entire universe for four years. It looked a lot different now. The entire interior had been replaced. Walls had been knocked down, rooms had been added._ _There was one particular room that she had been drawn to. As she looked out across the New York City skyline from the windows, she realized that part of the room had once been Don’s office. But it had been modified. It was bigger now._

_"What do you think?" Ken asked, as he wandered into the room._

_"I want my office to be here,” she said._

_"Calling dibs on the corner office already, huh?”_

_"It's not just that,” Peggy said. “This was where Don's office was, back in the old days. And I was his secretary.”_

_She pointed over to the wall._

_"I'm going to put my Clios and all my other awards over there,” Peggy explained. “Right where my old desk was when I was a secretary, so that every time I look over there I'll think 'look at how far I've come. I can do anything'."_

* * *

After a brief layover in Los Angeles, Peggy arrived back in New York on the morning of October 1st. Stan and the kids were waiting for her at the gate. Vicky immediately pried herself from Stan’s grip and ran to meet her as soon as Peggy walked out. Peggy kissed Vicky three times on the forehead, gave Stan a quick peck on the lips, and even managed to kiss Sara on the top of her head while she was off-guard.

“Mom!” Sara groaned, pulling away. “Don’t do that in public!”

“Sara, your mother’s been away for a week,” Stan admonished. “Greet her properly.”

“Sorry, Mom,” Sara muttered, looking down at her feet. “I’m glad you’re home.”

Peggy dug into her bag and pulled out the bottle of sake Mike had found for Stan, still wrapped in a brown paper bag.

“Happy birthday,” she said, pushing it into Stan’s hands. He pulled it out of the bag and inspected it closely.

“Huh, interesting.”

“You’d better like it,” Peggy warned him. “It cost thirty thousand yen.”

Peggy felt a tug at her shirt. She looked down and saw Vicky staring up at her, her eyes filled with anticipation.

“What did you buy for me, Mommy?” she asked breathlessly.

“You’ll have to wait until we get home, Vicks,” Stan said, grinning and tousling her hair a little. “Mommy’s tired.”

Peggy took Vicky’s hand and they all walked down to the luggage carousels together. Mike had already picked up his luggage and he was standing around, looking like he was waiting for someone.

“Do you need a ride home?” Peggy said. “You’d have to sit in the back with the kids, but Vicky doesn’t get carsick much anymore.”

“Nah, I got a friend picking me up,” Mike said.

“Jesus, Peggy, what the hell did you buy?” Stan asked as he lifted her suitcase from the carousel. “I swear it wasn’t this heavy when I dropped you off last week.”

Mike had returned from Shibuya with, amongst other things, a Hello Kitty plush toy roughly the size of a toddler. He smirked as he handed it over to her. It took up most of her suitcase and she could barely zip it up when she tried to close it.

Peggy let the warm fall sunshine wash over her as they walked into parking lot. She sat down in the passenger seat and immediately leaned her head against the window and closed her eyes. She couldn't wait to get home and take a nap in her own bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. The L’Oreal “Because I’m Worth It” slogan was actually coined by McCann Erickson copywriter Ilon Specht in 1971.  
> 2\. Ed was the art director employed by CGC who moved over to SC&P after the merger. Peggy caught him speaking Japanese on the phone in episode 12 of season 7 so I thought it would be appropriate for him to be working at the Japanese branch of Olson Draper.  
> 3\. Sorry this chapter took so long. I was retooling the story a little and even went back and revised/added to the first chapter because I wasn't really happy with it. Go back and reread that if you feel so inclined.


	3. Chapter 3

_April 10 1965_

_“Miss Blankenship said that you wanted to see me?”_

_As she walked into Don’s office, Peggy noticed that he wasn’t alone. Standing next to Don was a stockily built man who looked around thirty. He was wearing what had to be the tightest polo shirt that Peggy had ever seen. She had to admit that he was handsome, in a square-jawed high school jock kind of way._

_“Peggy, this is Stan Rizzo, our new art director,” Don said, gesturing to the man next to him._

_“But Joey’s our art director,” Peggy said, frowning._

_“Joey’s a freelancer. Stan is going to be here full-time.”_

_“I thought you were going to consult me on new hires?” Peggy asked, in a more accusatory tone than she intended._

_“New copywriters,” Don corrected her. “Stan is part of the art department.”_

_“I still have to work with him,” Peggy protested._

_“Peggy, Stan is a graduate of the Art Institute of Chicago, spent three years at DDB, and worked on the Johnson campaign. He’s the best there is." He looked at Stan. "Peggy will show you to your office.”_

_Peggy glared at Don. She turned to look at Stan._

_“Come on,” Peggy said, defeated._

* * *

“Good morning, Ms Olson. Happy anniversary!”

Shannon handed Peggy her usual mug of coffee and followed her into her office.

“Thank you, Shannon,” Peggy said, taking a sip of the coffee. “I’m impressed that you remembered.”

“Do you have anything planned for tonight?” Shannon asked.

“We’re going to the Waldorf Astoria,” Peggy answered. “We got married there. Well, actually we just had our reception there. We got married at St. Agnes’s.”

“For dinner?”

“Dinner,” Peggy confirmed. “And then we’re staying the night. So we don’t have to worry about the kids, you know? Can you get the team for Quaker Oats in here in about an hour?”

Peggy set her briefcase on her desk. She clicked the clasps and opened it up. There, lying innocently on top of her Quaker Oats notes, was a package neatly wrapped in what she recognized as the bright pink _My Little Pony_ wrapping paper they had used for Vicky’s birthday presents that year.

Peggy tore off the wrapping paper and found an elegant white box tied with a pale pink ribbon and an envelope that said ‘open the box first’. Peggy complied. Inside was a beautiful string of white pearls that glistened in the sunlight streaming in through the window. Peggy ran her fingers over them and smiled.

She picked up the envelope and tore it open with her fingernails. She slid the card out and inspected it.  There was a hand-drawn picture on the front. A woman, completely naked except for a string of pearls that resembled the very same pearls that Peggy had just received, was sitting on her knees, her face contorted with orgasmic pleasure. Peggy opened the card to the read the message inside.

_Peggy,_

_Hope you like this pearl necklace as much as the one I’m going to give you tonight._

_Happy anniversary._

_Your devoted husband,_

_Stan_

Shaking her head, Peggy reached out, pulled the phone towards her, and started punching in her home phone number onto the keypad. Stan picked up after four and a half rings.

“Olson-Rizzo residence,” she heard his smooth, deep voice say. “Stan Rizzo speaking.”

“It’s me,” Peggy said. “I just found your gift.”

“Well, what did you think?” he asked.

“The pearls are beautiful.”

“You like the card too?”

“It’s disgusting,” Peggy said, smiling despite herself.

Stan chuckled.

“I’ll be there at six,” he said. “Your sister’s coming to watch the girls, and she’s going to get them off to school tomorrow morning so there won’t be a rush.”

“I can’t wait.”

* * *

_September 7th, 1967_

_“Out on a school night, Olson? That isn’t like you at all.”_

_Peggy set her drink down on the bar and stared up at the bearded stranger. There was something familiar about him, but she couldn’t quite put her finger on i-_

_“Oh my god.” Peggy clapped a hand to her mouth. “Stan?”_

_“Long time no see,” Stan said, grinning. He sat down at the bar next to her._

_“I didn’t recognize you with the…” Peggy gestured to his face._

_“Oh yeah, I thought I’d grow it out,” Stan said, running a hand over his beard._

_“I normally don’t like beards, but yours suits you,” Peggy said. She took another drink of whiskey._

_“I think that might be the first positive feedback you’ve ever given me so I’ll take it.”_

_“What are you doing here?” Peggy asked._

_“Waiting for a date,” Stan answered. “You?”_

_“Waiting for Abe.”_

_“Ah,” Stan said. “How is he?”_

_“Good,” Peggy answered. “We’re thinking about buying our own place now that I’m at CGC.”_

_“So how is everything over there with Teddy Chaough?” Stan asked._

_“Great!” Peggy said. “Everything’s great. Ted’s great.”_

_“I miss working late with you,” Stan said. “Ginzo and Margie don’t like to use the ‘extra help’ like we do.”_

_“Margie must be my replacement.”_

_“She wishes. Her death glare isn’t even close to being as menacing as yours.”_

_Peggy giggled and looked down at her whiskey._

_"I’m sorry I didn’t say goodbye,” she admitted. “I just had to get out of there as soon as possible.”_

_“It’s okay,” Stan said. “I understand. Ah, t_ _here she is.”_

_Peggy turned and saw a leggy brunette with a hefty bosom walking over to Stan. She looked back at him. He looked almost disappointed._

_“I won’t keep you then,” she said. She looked down at her watch and frowned. Abe was almost twenty minutes late now._

_“I guess I’ll see you around,” Stan said as he started walking towards his date._

_“Wait, Stan!” Peggy called after him._

_He stopped and looked back at her. Peggy took a business card with her work phone number out of her purse and handed it to him._

_“Call me."_

* * *

“Cynthia wants to know if you would like to come over for dinner on Saturday,” Ken said. “You, Stan, and the kids.”

Ken and Cynthia lived in a beautiful palatial house in Scarsdale. They had four sons, the two oldest of whom were currently away at college. The two youngest were around the same age as Peggy’s own children. Cynthia had been pregnant with the third, Andrew, at the same time Peggy had been pregnant with Sara. The youngest, William, was a year older than Vicky.

“We’d love to,” Peggy said. “I’ll let Stan know tonight.”

There was a knock at the door and Shannon walked in.

“Ms Olson, your husband’s here,” she told Peggy.

“Speak of the devil,” Peggy said. “Tell him I’ll be right there.”

She downed the rest of her whiskey, set the glass on Ken’s desk, and stood up.

“You kids have fun tonight!” Ken called after her.

Stan was lying on the couch in her office flipping through an _Advertising Age_ when she walked in.

“Exactly how old is your secretary, Pegs?” he asked, not looking up from the newspaper. “She looks Sara’s age.”

“She’s twenty,” Peggy answered. “Born in 1969.”

Peggy locked the door of her office and retrieved the purple Yves Saint Laurent dress that had been hanging in a dry-cleaning bag from the hook on the back of the door.

“Fuck, I swear I was already getting AARP flyers in ‘69," Stan said.

“Your present’s on the floor under my desk,” Peggy said, unbuttoning her shirt.

She’d sent Shannon out to buy a whole case of Stan’s favorite expensive bourbon that morning. The poor girl stumbled in an hour later, her face red with strain as she struggled to carry the heavy load by herself. Peggy had felt bad and had given her an extra long lunch break to make up for it.

“Jesus, how’d your secretary carry this?” Stan groaned, lifting the box up to test its weight. “She’s tiny!”

“Who says she’s the only who picked it up?”

“Peggy, come on,” Stan said, raising an eyebrow slyly.

“You’re right,” she admitted sheepishly.

“I’m not looking forward to lugging this up 49th street,” Stan said, setting the box down on the floor.

“You could leave it here,” Peggy suggested. She unzipped her skirt and let it fall to the ground.

“Nah, I might need it tonight.”

Peggy shot Stan a dirty look. He laughed.

“I brought us some dessert,” he said, grinning. He reached into his pocket and pulled out two large chocolate brownies wrapped up in plastic.

“You’re incorrigible,” Peggy said, shaking her head. She pulled the dress on and zipped it up. “How was your day?”

“Another day of drawing cute bunnies,” Stan said, shrugging.

Now that Vicky was at school full-time, Stan had decided to take on more freelance jobs. He had been hired to illustrate a series of children’s books called _The Adventures of Mr Funny Bunny_. He didn’t need to work, really. Peggy made more than enough to support their family many times over. But Stan liked to earn his own money and he especially being able to share his work with the kids, especially Vicky, who wasn’t exactly old enough to understand the political satire in Stan’s work in The New Yorker.

“And Lorenz called,” he continued. “My Quayle cartoon will be in next week’s issue. What about you?”

Peggy reached into her purse, pulled out some foundation powder, mascara, and her favorite shade of red lipstick and walked over to the mirror. She quickly tidied up her hair before starting to touch up her make up.

“Still no progress of Quaker Oats,” she said. “I am this close to firing everyone.”

“You’ll get there,” Stan said. “You always do.”

“I never liked oatmeal.”

“Why not? It’s warm, it’s comforting.”

“It’s just bland mush,” Peggy said. “It tastes like nothing.”

“Not if you put honey in it,” Stan pointed out.

“We’re trying to push it as a healthier alternative to other sugary cereals,” Peggy said, carefully reapplying her mascara.

“Honey’s healthy,” Stan insisted. “It’s natural.”

“Would you want the girls eating spoons of honey every morning?” she asked, briefly tearing her attention away from the mirror to look over at him.

Stan thought for a moment.

“I guess not,” he admitted. “The last time I let Vicky have Lucky Charms, she got so hyper she nearly ran onto Park Avenue in morning rush hour while I was walking her to pre-school. It’s been Rice Krispies ever since.”

Peggy finished applying the last of her makeup and picked up her purse.

“Let’s go.”

* * *

  _May 25 th 1971_

_“I have another birthday present for you.”_

_Stan pushed a little black velvet-lined ring box across the table as the waiter refilled their glasses of wine. Peggy raised an eyebrow at him. This had to be a joke._

_“Open it,” he urged._

_She took the box and snapped it open. Even though she half-knew what was coming, she still couldn’t stop her jaw from dropping._

_“Oh my god.”_

_She looked back up at Stan. He actually looked nervous. Peggy couldn’t remember the last time she had seen him look nervous. Stan and nervous didn’t even belong in the same sentence._

_“I hope you don’t mind that it’s not a diamond,” he said. “But I kinda liked that the sapphire matches your eyes.”_

_Peggy stared back down at the ring, unable to form a response._

_“Do you not like it? We can exchange it.”_

_“No, it’s beautiful,” Peggy said slowly. “It’s just… Stan, it’s only been six months.”_

_“Seven,” Stan corrected her, grinning and looking like his usual cocky self again._

_“I’ve had bad experience rushing into things,” Peggy said, shaking her head._

_“We’re not rushing into it,” Stan pointed out. “We’ve known each other for six years.”_

_Peggy considered this for a few moments. She really did want to marry Stan. She had known this for a while now. She hadn’t felt this way about anyone before, not even Abe._

_“I want you to do this properly,” she said, and she nodded at the ground next to their table._

_“Right here?” Stan asked, raising an eyebrow._

_“Right here, right now,” Peggy confirmed._

_“Okay.”_

_Stan grabbed the open ring box and stood up. He positioned himself on one knee next to where Peggy was sitting. He held out the box in one hand and took Peggy’s hand with the other. The people at the tables next to them had stopped eating and had turned around to watch._

_“Peggy Olson, will you marry me?”_

* * *

“Not bad for someone running on half-capacity, huh?”

Peggy looked up from where she had been lying on Stan's chest. She wiped some sweat from her face and smiled.

“It was wonderful,” she said dreamily. “You’ve got a bit of brownie in your stubble.”

She reached up and brushed it off. He smiled back at her.

“You’re so beautiful,” he said, brushing his hand through her hair. “God, I’m so glad the girls got your eyes.”

“I’m old now,” Peggy said dismissively.

“You’re sexier to me now than ever.”

“We’ve been married for eighteen years, Rizzo. You don’t need to sweet talk me anymore.”

“I mean it,” Stan insisted. “I’ve always been into older women.

“I’m four years younger than you.”

“Jesus, you know what I meant,” Stan said. “That reminds me. I was picking the little gremlins up from school today, and Vicky’s class has been learning about government, I guess, and she told me that she wants to be the president one day. So I told her that I’d only vote for her if she promised to legalize it.”

“Jesus Christ, Stan. _She’s five_.”

“Obviously she didn’t know what I meant,” Stan said. “But she looked me straight in the eye and said ‘Daddy, if you don’t vote for me, I’ll put you in a home’.”

Peggy almost fell off the bed laughing. In her defense, Stan’s brownies were notoriously strong.

“My god, where does she pick this stuff up?” she said when she was finally able to control her giggles. “I think we need to limit her time in front of the television.”

Stan ran his hands through her hair.

“Remember the first night we spent here?” he asked.

“I’ll never forget it,” Peggy said. “What were we even working on? I don’t remember that part. I remember everything else, though.”

“Vicks,” Stan said. “We were working on Vicks cough drops.”

“Vicks,” Peggy mused, giggling a little. “That’s what you call Vicky.”

“We should start telling people that’s how we named her,” Stan said. “Just to mess with them.”

Peggy waited until she was sure Stan had fallen asleep before she crept out onto the balcony to have her usual post-coital cigarette.

* * *

_October 23 rd, 1971_

_Peggy and Stan had chosen to hold their reception at the Waldorf Astoria, partly as a joke amongst themselves. It was a simple cocktail reception in the Empire Room on the second floor. She and Stan weren’t exactly the sort of people to throw a big formal sit down dinner with a hired band and ballroom dancing, after all. Don had helped them get the venue. Evidently, he and Conrad Hilton had managed to make up after he returned to McCann Erickson. They had even managed to secure the honeymoon suite to spend their first night as a legally married couple in._

_Peggy had been having an awkward conversation with Ted and his new wife when Pete interrupted them and asked to speak with Peggy alone. Peggy, who was glad to have a reason to excuse herself, complied._

_“I couldn’t help but notice the way Stan keeps looking at me,” he said when he’d gotten her away from the crowd._

_Peggy looked over to where Stan was deep in conversation with his best man, Ronnie, an old friend of his who Peggy had met only once and was not particularly fond of._

_“I told him,” she said. “I had to.”_

_“That’s understandable,” Pete conceded, sighing._

_“Have you told Trudy?” Peggy asked curiously._

_“I did,” Pete admitted. “Don’t worry, I didn’t tell her it was you.”_

_“How’d she take it?” Peggy asked._

_“Pretty well, all things considered,” Pete said. “It bothers her, obviously, especially since we struggled to have a kid ourselves, but we’re working through it. We’ve been going to therapy.”_

_Peggy looked over to where Trudy was laughing with Ken and Cynthia._

_“I hope it works out for you two,” Peggy told him, and she meant it._

_“Same with you two,” Pete said. “You know I always thought you two would make a good couple.”_

_”You’re not the only one who has said that to us,” Peggy told him._

_”I should go,” Pete said. “Your husband’s coming.”_

_Peggy looked over and saw Stan walking towards them. She quickly said goodbye to Pete._

_“What did Pete want?” Stan asked._

_“I just told him that you know that he was the one,” Peggy told him._

_Stan’s face relaxed and he smiled at her._

_“You look so beautiful,” he told her._

_“You like my dress?” Peggy asked, feeling the chiffon fabric of her skirt with her hands._

_“I love it.” He leaned in closer and lowered his voice. “I’m going to love it even more when it’s lying on the floor later tonight.”_

_“You have a one-track mind,” Peggy said, shaking her head._

_“Let’s sneak off while no one’s watching,” he whispered._

_“We haven’t even cut the cake yet,” Peggy said._

_“Who cares about cake?” Stan said impishly._

_“You wait a few hours and you can do whatever you want with me for as long as you want,” Peggy said. “At least until check out time tomorrow.”_

_“I’m holding you to that, Mrs Rizzo,” he said, and he shot her a mischievous grin._

* * *

Peggy blinked furiously as her eyes adjusted to the morning sunlight streaming in through the window of the hotel room. She rolled over and glanced at the digital clock on the nightstand next to her.

_8:47._

“Shit, I’m late for work.”

She threw Stan’s arm off her and practically leapt out of bed. She started looking around for her clothes.

“You own the company,” Stan groaned into his pillow. “You can be as late as you want.”

“No, I own the company so it’s my duty to be there,” Peggy said, pulling on her underwear.

“Aren’t you gonna go home and change first?” Stan asked, sitting up.

“I keep spare clothes at work,” Peggy said, as she pulled her dress out from under the bed.

“Is that for all your dalliances with your secret boyfriends?” Stan asked teasingly.

Peggy rolled her eyes at him and frantically pulled on her dress.

“It’s okay, I’ve seen all the movies. You’re a CEO. I’m a house husband. It’s only a matter of time before you replace me with a twenty year old blond with a six pack and two working testicles.”

“Now that you mention it, I think Gary from the mailroom has been giving me the eye lately,” Peggy said, zipping up her dress. “But he’s eighty-three years old and smells like prune juice.”

“Sounds like I’ve got competition.”

“Aren’t you coming?” Peggy asked, slipping on her shoes, grabbing her purse, and walking towards the door.

“Nah, we’ve got the room until twelve. I’m gonna sleep in.”

“You’re gonna get drunk, order room service, and watch pay-per-view porn, aren’t you?”

“I’m a man of simple wants and needs, Peggy,” he said, grinning. He pointed over to where the case of bourbon she had bought for him was sitting. “Pass me the booze.”

“I’ll let you know if I’ll be home in time for dinner,” Peggy said. She tore open the case of bourbon, plucked out a bottle, and threw it on the bed. She turned towards the door.

“Wait, baby!”

Peggy turned around, her hand resting on the doorknob.

“You’ve still got the most incredible ass.”

Peggy smiled.

“Thank you, honey.”

* * *

_August 23rd, 1977_

_In the days leading up to her daughter’s birth, Peggy had frequently found herself standing in the room she and Stan had designated as the nursery in the apartment they had bought just a few months before in anticipation of the birth of their child. Peggy had never really been interested in interior decorating, though she had insisted that their child’s room be as happy and welcoming as possible. Stan had painted the walls a soft shade of pale yellow. He had painted the crib and the rest of the furniture seashell white. They had picked out an adorable set of crib sheets: yellow with white daisies that matched the color scheme perfectly._

_It seemed a shame that they hadn’t really used the room yet. Sara had slept in a frilly white bassinet next to their bed in the five weeks since they’d brought her home from the hospital. They were terrified she would stop breathing if they left her alone for too long._

_Peggy dug her hand into the washing basket full of warm fresh-from-the-dryer pastel-colored baby clothes and pulled out a tiny blue dress with an embroidered teddy bear on the front. She carefully folded it up and tucked it into the drawer. She reached into the basket again and pulled out a pink onesie that had “Future Creative Director” emblazoned across the front. A gift from Pete. It was easily her favorite. Peggy wasn’t quite sure how she felt about Sara going into advertising, though a few weeks ago she had found herself looking at a plastic typewriter toy in FAO Schwarz for far longer than she should have._

_Peggy finished putting away the rest of Sara’s clothes and walked out into the living room. Stan was sitting on the floor, singing Yellow Submarine to Sara as he changed her diaper. She smiled. It had only been six weeks, but Stan had already proven himself to be an excellent father._

_“There we go, nice and clean,” he said, patting the little patch of light blonde hair on Sara’s head. He got up and walked out of the room to wash his hands and dispose of the old diaper._

_“Are you sure you’re going to be alright with her when I go back to work next week?” Peggy asked when he walked back in and sat down next to the baby again._

_That was the deal they had made before they decided to have a baby. Stan, who was home most of the time anyway, would do his best to take on the brunt of the child-care responsibilities during the day as long as Peggy didn’t stay late or work weekends, at least for the first couple of years of the baby’s life._

_“I’ve already had the full-sized Peggy bossing me around for twelve years. A tiny version of you should be a piece of cake,” Stan said. “You both drink out of a bottle and you both get cranky if you don’t get your afternoon nap. At least the baby doesn’t make me go halfway uptown to pick up her dry-cleaning. Yet.”_

_“I mean, do you think you’ll be able to work and take care of her at the same time?”_

_“I’ll do it while she’s sleeping,” Stan said, shrugging. “Or at night or the weekend, when you’re here. And I can always drop her off at daycare for a few hours if I need to.” He looked back down at Sara and playfully poked her nose with his index finger. “We’re going to have fun, aren’t we, sweetheart?”_

_Sara cooed happily and reached out to Stan, who beamed and took her in his arms._

_“See, we’ll be fine,” he said to Peggy, getting up from the floor and settling down on the couch with the baby. “You wanna order pizza tonight?”_

_“No, I still have a few more pounds to lose,” Peggy said. She didn’t want to go back to work wearing one of her tent-like maternity dresses._

_“Peggy, come on, you need to eat,” Stan said as Sara nestled into his chest. “Looking after a baby is hard work. You probably burned off a whole extra large pizza’s worth of calories today alone.”_

_“Maybe a slice or two wouldn’t hurt,” Peggy said, biting her lip. She supposed some of her maternity clothes didn’t look too bad._

_“Come join us,” Stan said, patting the space next to him on the couch. “May as well get a few moments of rest before she starts screaming again.”_

_Peggy didn’t need to be told twice. She sunk down on the couch next to her husband and daughter and leaned over to give Sara a kiss._

_“I love you,” she said softly._

_“You talking to me or the baby?” Stan asked._

_She leaned her head on Stan’s shoulder and closed her eyes._

_“Both of you,” she said contentedly._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Admittedly this is pretty much entirely a filler chapter, but I really wanted to write some cute Stan/Peggy scenes that not only showcase their life as a happily married middle-aged couple with two kids, but also do some quick portraits of their life at different stages of their relationship.

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. Title is from the Robert Frost poem of the same name.  
> 2\. I tagged it with major character death because it obviously opens with Don's funeral. Don't worry, no one else is dying in this story.  
> 3\. Chapter One revised January 11th 2019


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